American Dog - Carla the Hot Dog Bandit

When we sat down at the picnic table under a shady tree off Tremont Street, I had the singular goal of eating the freshly grilled hot dog that the Animal Rescue League had just provided to me in their celebration of “Happy Endings”, or adoptions of ARL's rescued animals.  I may have had that singular goal but I was not alone in that ambition.

To my left was Carla.  Carla was not foreign to hotdogs; she may have even been a connoisseur and I was in the presence of hot dog consumption greatness.  

She was stealth in her approach.  Her long legs helped her be both quick and silent along the length of the picnic table and the full expanse of her leash.  She was a girl on a mission.

Carla’s Mom, Tamara, apologized for her bold, gregarious approach to hot dog procurement and we exchanged niceties and chit-chatted about our own experience with heavy chins and different gourmet delights that get in the crosshairs of our own dogs’ desires.

 I ate the hot dog and Carla, forgiving that it wasn’t shared, was still interested in engaging me under that shady tree. 

I learned it was Carla’s birthday yesterday.  Her Mom, making sure such an important occasion did not go without festivities, made a “meat cake” for Carla for her birthday.  With great enthusiasm she shared that it was a layer cake of dry cooked ground beef, brown rice, lamb, and a few other ingredients that made Carla’s birthday extra special.  It was clear at that moment that we were in the company of an uber puppy mommy.

But that is no accident. . .

It appears Tamara came from good genetic stock when it comes to spoiling dogs.  Tamara shared that her mother loves to spoil Carla, too.  Carla’s Grandma goes by the moniker “Turkey Lady” and every dog parent needs no further explanation.


We asked about Carla's breed and Tamara shared that she is a mixed breed, a sato from Puerto Rico. Part greyhound?  Part Doberman Pinscher?  It was hard to say exactly the mix behind those beautiful brown eyes.  Tamara said that when Carla was younger, her stomach was more taut and she looked more like a greyhound.  While giving her an ear noogie, I told Carla that I could relate.  In dog years we were about the same age and neither of us probably should have been eating that hot dog.

We continued to chat about Fenway Bark, played with Carla’s canine friend, Cooper, and chatted with Cooper’s Mom, Sara.  For that brief time Carla, Cooper, Tamara, Sara, Jim and I connected all because of a friendly, outgoing dog, a bit of shade on Tremont Street, and a very tempting hot dog.